


Stans in High Places

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Original Character, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 11:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale find they have an unlikely ally in Heaven.Or,The trials and tribulations of Grigori, the clerk assigned to process the Earth Observation files.He recognized the worried angel in the photo as the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate. But the Principality Aziraphale hadn't been appointed to the subcommittee tasked with implementing God's wrath on earth. Nor was he involved with the Rainbow Creation Task Force that was well underway at this point. There simply wasn't an official reason for him to be there, let alone standing next to the figure in black.





	Stans in High Places

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this Tumblr post](https://starrose17.tumblr.com/post/188167040144/escriveine-thrive-in-silence-starrose17). Greg and Pravuil are characters I made up for the purpose of this fic, but Greg was absolutely inspired by [starrose17 on Tumblr](https://starrose17.tumblr.com/).
> 
> References [this deleted scene](https://imgur.com/a/CeOm3Tt) from the script book, in which Crowley shows up to the newly-opened bookshop to congratulate Aziraphale with chocolates but is chocolate-blocked by Gabriel.

"Here's the latest stack for you," she said, setting a large pile of stuffed file folders on the corner of his desk. She carefully shifted the tall stack on the edge that was leaning over, threatening to fall. He barely looked up.

"Thanks."

"We're at, how many thousands now? Of the flood?" She drifted back toward the door but didn't leave. "They just keep coming in."

"Over 4,000 now but I suspect we're not close to being done with it. She said _forty days and forty nights_, and you know how She is when She gets specific," he replied.

Pravuil chuckled. She hovered in the doorway.

"You've been burning both ends cataloging these, eh?" She glanced at the nameplate on the bright white wall outside his office._ Earth Observation_. 

Grigori sighed wearily in response. He wasn't tired because angels don't get tired. And yet, in a place deep in his celestial being somewhere, somehow, he was tired.

"Well listen, I'll let you get back to it..."

"Pravuil?" he called out. He'd looked up from the desk and the glossy printed photos scattered across it. "Thanks."

"Sure thing." She looked both ways down the hall, then poked her head back in and said, "I know it's not for me to say, but... And, I mean, I only see part of the stuff I bring you, you know. But anyway ..."

"Yes?"

She moved closer and lowered her voice. "The flood files have been pretty rough, right?"

Grigori rubbed his forehead and nodded, not looking her in the eye. "Yes, they've been ... intense."

Pravuil nodded. She kept one hand on Grigori's office door, lingering. "Do you want to keep the light off? Or?"

He sat back in his office chair. His desk took up most of the room, which was merely an antechamber leading to the much larger file storage rooms. A desk lamp provided the only light and its golden hue contrasted with the bluish ambiance of the empty hallway outside.

"Yes, thank you," he said, sheepishly. "Looking at these, it's just a bit much." He gestured vaguely at the photos of destruction and carnage that covered the surface of his desk.

"Okay." She turned to go.

"They didn't all make it, you know," he said.

"What?"

"All the creatures. Great and small." His voice was quiet. "They didn't all make it to the ark."

"Oh," she said. She folded her hands into the pleats of her long golden skirt.

"I filed them," he said, looking at her with misery in his eyes. "I put them under 'species lost forever'. Wasn't sure what else to do."

She said nothing. They shared a moment together, silent. His wall clock ticked. It was 9:37 a.m. in Heaven. It was Infinity a.m. in Hell, though why his clock told him that, he didn't know.

Pravuil looked away first.

"Guess it's the Plan."

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Grigori nodded. "Right."

"It's ah-" Her forehead creased.

"Ineffable," he said, his face blank.

"Right, that's it. Ineffable." She drummed her fingers on the door frame. "Well, have a good one. Not that there's another kind of one. Up here. You know."

He smiled thinly. 

"Thanks, you too." Idly curious, he opened the top folder from the stack she'd just delivered. "That's interesting," he murmured.

"Something wrong?" Pravuil turned back.

"No!" he said, quickly looking up. "These got out of order is all. The timestamp is off. They should've been filed with the rest of the pre-flood construction archives." 

Pravuil frowned. "Sorry about that."

He smiled, reassuring. "No problem. See you later, then." He looked back down at the desk, covering the photo with his hand.

"Okay then, see you." Pravuil left. Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the cavernous hallway towards the elevator.

Grigori turned back to the image. It had been taken looking away from the main focus of most of the contents of the file: the construction of the Ark. Among the crowd of onlookers stood an angel and a demon in conversation. "That's very interesting," he said to himself. 

The next image showed only a white-haired angel. His entire being radiated nervous energy and a sort of discomfort that felt eerily familiar to Grigori, who had felt something like it since the images of devastation caused by the great flood had been delivered.

He recognized the worried angel in the photo as the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate. But the Principality Aziraphale hadn't been appointed to the subcommittee tasked with implementing God's wrath on earth. Nor was he involved with the Rainbow Creation Task Force that was well underway at this point. There simply wasn't an official reason for him to be there, let alone standing next to the figure in black.

Grigori shuffled through the folder Pravuil had given him. He pulled out the transcript that accompanied the photos. The red-haired figure was listed as "unidentified demon" but Grigori would've recognized that flowing hair and piercing yellow eyes anywhere. No other demon he'd observed on Earth had ever thought to make themselves beautiful. He stood up and closed his office door.

_Unidentified demon: But they're drowning everybody else? Not the kids? You can't kill kids._

Grigori let out a deep breath. He looked around his empty office, worried, even though he'd closed the door and Pravuil was the only angel that ever visited him down here in the archives. He read on.

_Principality Aziraphale: You can't judge the Almighty, Crawley. God's plans are-_

_Unidentified demon: Are you going to say ineffable?_

He should flag this. He should draft a memo to the department head and cc the Archangel Michael. At the very least, he should catalog it according to protocol. He could justify labeling it 'collusion with dark forces', 'suspicious meetings', maybe even 'questioning the Almighty'. How he cataloged this file was important. Any of those labels would send it up for committee review. The committee might not get around to it for centuries, but the labels he added would follow the Principality Aziraphale for the remainder of his time on Earth. 

Grigori looked again at the image. Dressed in white robes that shone against the backdrop of the oncoming storm, Aziraphale's face was pinched with worry as he looked at the crowd of humans around him. Grigori slid the photo and the transcript back into the file. He stamped it only with Principality Aziraphale and the date. He put the folder carefully into his outbox with all the others. He sighed, but felt lighter than he had in days. He cracked his knuckles, which was a habit he'd never have admitted to and needed to break.

Then he got back to work.

* * *

"Morning Greg," she said, rapping her knuckles lightly on his door before entering. 

"Hi Pravuil," he said, and smiled. She'd started calling him Greg sometime around the eleventh century. It took him until the fourteenth to get used to it. At the height of the plague, when all he cataloged were things like 'human death', 'misery and suffering', and 'rotting flesh', Pravuil giving him a nickname had been one of the few things to put a smile on his face. "What do you have for me today?" 

"An armadillo and a ham sandwich." 

His eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes and set a stack of files on his desk. "Nope."

"Too bad. I've always been curious what She was thinking when She created armadillos. Wouldn't mind seeing one someday." 

Pravuil laughed and it felt like a small explosion had taken place in his chest. In the best way possible.

"Anything interesting in the observation files these days?" She peered over his shoulder and he hastily slid one of the photos to the bottom of the pile. "Is that the Principality that's down there? Aziraphale?"

He cleared his throat. "Yep. He's been encouraging this young playwright, William." Greg pointed to the tired-looking man. "He's having a difficult go of it right now, but I think he'll make it. His work is really something else."

"Mmm. He's an odd one, isn't he?" Pravuil said, nodding at the image of Aziraphale. In the observation photo he was beaming at the stage, radiating happiness and tranquility. He held a packet of grapes. 

Greg looked up at her sharply. "How so?"

She shrugged, and the ruffles on her white jacket touched his arm. "I heard some of Sandalphon's people talking. Apparently he loves the arts so much they're wondering if he's angling to come back up and replace one of them."

He pursed his lips. "I doubt it."

She stood up straight and shrugged again. "I dunno, makes sense to me. He's been down there for ages. Why wouldn't he want to come back? It'd be a halfway decent plan if he wanted to come back. Sandalphon's never seemed like a Patron-of-the-Arts kind of guy, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"Mmm, I know what you mean," he said, vaguely.

"Well anyway, guess I'll see you later." 

He watched her go. "Bye Pravuil."

As her footsteps faded, he retrieved the photo he'd hidden from the bottom of the stack. The red headed demon, wearing a stylish black doublet and tights, gazed off to the side. His focus was fixed on Aziraphale, who stood out of frame. He leaned toward the angel and Greg saw so much longing and affection in the demon's gaze he had to look away.

He put the photo back in the file and stamped it with the date. But he left out anything that would flag the file as out of the ordinary. No one had asked or would ever ask his opinion on such matters, but for his money, he agreed with Crowley. The funny ones were better.

* * *

When Pravuil appeared in his doorway, he smiled. "Hi, how's it going today?"

She rounded the desk and set the files on the empty space right next to his arm. "Oh you know, can't complain," she said. She folded her arms and made a face. "I mean _literally_, we can't complain. Ever since we got transferred under Gabriel he makes us do push-ups if we do." She shuddered.

He tried to look sympathetic and not too amused at the mental image of the record-keeping department doing group push-ups beside their desks while Gabriel berated them.

"That's rough, sorry." She smiled and perched on the corner of his desk, almost toppling a stack of papers. "He must be touchy from being down on earth."

"Gabriel went down to earth?"

He showed her the photo he'd been looking at. It showed Gabriel leaving a brick building, dressed sharply. Sandalphon followed behind him.

"Nice suit," she said. He raised an eyebrow at that but stayed quiet. Anything he could've said would've been the wrong thing to say.

"What was he doing down there? I mean, it's none if my business, sorry..."

"It's okay, Pravuil. But you know what happened to the cat," he said. She just looked at him, lost. "Never mind, it's a human saying. Curiosity killed the cat." He felt his ears growing hot under her gaze, which didn't change expressions in the slightest. He coughed.

"Anyway, he was supposed to bring Aziraphale back so Michael could replace him."

"Oh really? Finally! I saw him in the hallway a few decades ago and I gotta say he looked a little twitchy. Can you imagine being down there all this time with no one to talk to? I'd go mad if I didn't chat with you at least every decade."

His mouth opened but nothing came out. She laughed but he couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He gulped, then said, "I said supposed to - he's staying. The demon, his main adversary, Crowley? Supposedly he's so dastardly only Aziraphale can thwart him."

Grigori felt his ears heat up again, this time because of the lie. 

"Oh." She looked disappointed on Aziraphale's behalf. "That demon Crowley must be _something else_ if Michael can't handle him. Well, see you next time," she said, pushing off from his desk and departing with a cheery wave.

Something else indeed, he thought.

He pulled out the image of Gabriel handing Aziraphale his commendation. He'd have to label these carefully since Gabriel and Sandalphon were involved. Gabriel had been oblivious to the look of anguish on Aziraphale's face but it was obvious to Greg. He'd seen millions of observation photos of all the earth's field agents by now, and he felt like he knew all of Aziraphale's many expressions by now.

He had flipped through these before Pravuil arrived, so he knew the next image would've shown Aziraphale as he spotted Crowley in the doorway. In the photo, the angel's face was obscured by Gabriel's shoulder. Greg could picture the expression he'd be wearing, though. He'd seen it so many times. Aziraphale, catching sight of Crowley across a crowded bazaar. Aziraphale, startled by Crowley at his elbow, catching him unawares at a public gathering. He'd seen the smile that appeared on the angel's face grow brighter every time as the years passed, until it shown with the radiance of a small star. Crowley tried valiantly to keep his own face neutral when they met but to a watchful eye, his feelings were as transparent as his counterpart's. 

What would've happened? If he'd shown up to Aziraphale's shop with chocolates and Gabriel hadn't been there? Greg smiled to himself and stamped the file. It went in the bin to be filed away, never seen again unless specifically requested. He longed to find out.

* * *

"You got a chair!" She plopped the files on his desk but didn't sit.

"Good morning, Pravuil," he said. "Yes I did."

He gestured to the standard-issue reception chair tucked in the corner of his office. "It was surplus. Uriel's people are going 'open-concept' on the 33rd floor." They both rolled their eyes.

"It's afternoon by now, you know," she said. She nodded at the clock, which showed half one. He rubbed his eyes. "You've been working too hard. When's your next holiday?"

"Not for another century or so," he said, putting his chin in the palm of his hand. "You?"

"Next month!"

"Bully for you," he said, smiling. "Plans?"

She stood on the other side of his desk, halfway to the door. Her long dark braid was draped down one shoulder and she played with it absently.

"Not looking at one single account. Not one book, not one file, not a single message- I can tell you that. Might go see the choirs, haven't done that in half a millennium." She pursed her lips, thinking. Then shrugged. "Not sure what else, really."

"Do you ever think about going down there? Seeing creation for yourself?"

"What, a holiday on earth?"

"Yeah, something like that."

He showed her a picture he'd held back from the files. It was a meadow in late summer, bursting with life and color. There were thousands of wildflowers in all the colors of the rainbow. The grass swayed in a gentle breeze, and the sky above was the purest shade of blue. He needed to catalog it, but every time he thought he had the right labels, something in him broke and he had to start again. He couldn't get the essence of the image to fit into his pre-existing categories without feeling as though the entire process was wholly inadequate. It felt wrong to put something this beautiful in a box in a storage room.

"That's pretty."

He could tell the image didn't affect her the way it did him, but she thought about it anyway and he appreciated that more than he could say. She looked at the wall and concentrated. Her eyebrows knit together. Greg thought it was the most adorable sight he'd seen since he'd started the file on kittens.

After a moment, she said, "I'd like to see Paris."

"Paris, good choice."

She smiled. "Especially the Louvre." 

He smiled back. "I've seen the files. It's amazing."

They shared a moment, smiling at each other over a photo of a patch of grass in what the humans called Alaska. After she left, Greg slipped the photo into his desk drawer. He didn't file it and there wasn't a single being in Heaven that would know or care or even begin to understand why. There were two beings on earth that would. He'd never met them, but somehow he knew they'd understand.

* * *

She sat in his office chair, ankles crossed. Her hands were folded in her lap on top of her long skirt. 

"Do you ever think about the, well, the fallen ones?" He lowered his voice. "The demons we're supposedly at war with?"

"Supposedly? Wouldn't use that word in front of Gabriel if I were you," she cautioned.

"I know, I know. I just-"

Her forehead wrinkled. "What brought this on?"

"It's nothing." He looked away, chin on his hand. "I've just been thinking lately. She forgives you when you make a mistake, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, if you repent," she said. "She doesn't really cast people out anymore, but..."

"Do you think She'll ever forgive- I mean, if you do something that's against-"

"Greg-"

"I mean- I guess what I mean is, if you find something that's worth fighting for but it's not-"

"It's not what?"

He didn't answer. He drummed his fingers on his desk nervously. 

"Pravuil, I just- it's just that ..."

He stopped and pointed at the clocks that hung on the otherwise blank wall.

"Look, this clock tells me it's 6:14 p.m. here and 'Infinity' in Hell. But if I switched the labels, would you know the difference?" He looked at her and he knew his eyes were desperate and sad. She said nothing while the silence stretched uncomfortably. He looked down.

"I think you need to get out of this office once in a while," she said. She stood up and approached his desk but he looked away.

"You're right. Hopefully the world won't end before I get a chance to go on holiday." He smiled weakly, but she didn't return it.

"Take care of yourself, Greg," she said as she left.

Her dark brown eyes had looked at him with concern, and there was nothing he could do to allay it. When he sat back down at his desk, he put his head in his hands. That hadn't gone the way he wanted it to. The years were weighing on him. She was right, he needed a holiday. 

But that wasn't all.

His eyes stung when he looked at the photo he'd slid into his top drawer. Without thinking, he'd started to catalog it 'doomed love'. Because that's what it was.

Looking at it now, he was filled with regret. He'd file it with the date, but strip it of labels. He'd strip it of meaning. The same way he had taken away the meaning of the two of them for thousands of years.

He should feel ashamed of the tears building in his eyes, but he wasn't. He wiped them away so they wouldn't fall on the photo. It showed two people sitting in a car, the indirect light of garish neon signs splashed across their faces. Their hands briefly clasped around the same thermos.

* * *

Greg stopped getting files the day before Armageddon was supposed to happen.

He sat at his desk with nothing to do. Alerts were going out all over the place and he could hear angels rushing past his office door every few minutes but none of it concerned him. He got up to close his office door, then sank back down into his chair. He'd changed into the battle kit that had arrived that morning, but felt ridiculous in it. His foot tapped the floor, vibrating with nervous energy. 

Anticipation, dread and excitement rolled into a ball of stress in the pit of his stomach. Ever since the Archangel Michael had requested the Earth Observation files of the Principality Aziraphale, he'd dreaded receiving a summons to appear in front of a committee. The Committee to Review High Treason, perhaps. Or even more terrifying, the Clerical Error Rectification Taskforce. But nothing else came.

He sat in his office in his battle kit and thought of the angel and demon who were trying to save the world they'd lived in for six millenia. He let out a shaky laugh when he realized he hoped they'd succeed. 

He was shocked out of his reverie when his office door opened. Pravuil rushed in and slammed it shut behind her, breathing heavily.

"I thought it was a mistake. I saw your name- I stamped the order on your kit, but-"

He walked around his desk to face her. He gestured down at his outfit and smiled. It was a bleak smile but he managed.

"Here it is."

She looked him up and down. "I see. You look, umm-"

"Ridiculous-"

"Good-"

He blushed furiously. They stood facing each other in an awkward silence.

Finally he said, "Thanks."

"I can't believe they're actually sending you out there," she said. She looked as worried as he suddenly felt.

"No use for Earth Observation if there's no earth," he said, knowing it wasn't exactly what he wanted to say but desperate to relieve the tension.

She nodded, then stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Please be safe," she whispered. 

As he processed what had just happened, she opened the door and started to leave. He called out after her, "Pravuil! When this blows over, I'm taking you to Paris."

"What? It's a war," she said, turning back and looking confused. Soldiers in battle kits and harried-looking angels in their usual garb rushed by her in both directions. An alarm klaxon had started to blare and she had to shout to be heard over it. "Wars don't just blow over!"

"This one will," he said. As soon as he heard himself say it, he believed it to be true. He grinned.

"How do you know?"

"I've been watching for 6,000 years. I have no idea what will happen, but _something_ will. I know it."

She looked at him, taken aback. A slow smile crept across her face.

"Well, if you're right, I can't wait to see it. Whatever happens." She looked at the commotion all around them in the usually-empty hallway. "And Paris! I can't wait to see Paris." 

* * *

A week after the Armageddon failed to happen, an angel arrived at A.Z. Fell & Company. The bell chimed as he walked through the threshold carrying a large box. In the backroom, a second chime sounded that only another angel could hear. Aziraphale stopped talking mid-sentence with his wine glass halfway to his lips. 

"What's wrong? Angel?" Crowley asked, immediately sensing the shift in Aziraphale's posture.

"Stay here," Aziraphale said. "I'll handle this." He set down his wine glass carefully and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief that had appeared when he needed it. Crowley noticed the bottle of wine refilling itself as the angel stood slowly and composed himself.

He took a deep breath, nodded at Crowley reassuringly, and headed to greet his unexpected ethereal visitor.

"Can I help you?" Aziraphale said, pleasantly. There was a steely undercurrent to his voice that was not lost on Greg.

"Yes, hello. It's very nice to meet you- oh, this place is amazing inside!" Greg looked around the inside of the bookshop in wonder. Aziraphale smiled thinly and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Yes, thank you. Now how can I help you? I don't believe we've met."

"Oh! Right." Greg focused on the Principality in front of him. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so nervous. You're right- we haven't met."

He shifted the box he was carrying to one side, attempting to hold out his hand for Aziraphale to shake but the whole thing leaned precariously. He looked around for an empty surface to set it down, but didn't find one. Every table, shelf, and just about every other horizontal surface of the bookshop was full of books, scrolls, and other curios. Greg snapped his fingers and Aziraphale immediately stepped forward, as if to stop him. But an empty table appeared in front of them instead and Aziraphale backed away. Greg set down the box. 

"Is Mister Crowley here? I saw his car parked outside. It's an impressive machine- even bigger in person than I imagined."

Aziraphale stiffened. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Angel? All right?" Crowley poked his head out of the back room and called out. "Did he say something about my car?"

Azirphale's eyes widened and he waved his hands, still behind his back. "Crowley, get back there," he whispered loudly.

"But he said something about my car!"

Crowley entered the main room, stopping by the window to look out after his Bentley. Aziraphale smiled at Greg, miserably.

"What's all this?" Crowley asked.

"It's for you. For both of you," he said. "My name is Grigori but you can call me Greg."

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, then at him, blank expressions on their faces. Crowley snickered and Aziraphale's eye twitched.

Greg coughed.

"I'm not here on official business. In fact, I'm not supposed to be here at all," he said. "I'd appreciate your discretion on the matter of my visit to your establishment, if it comes up with, well, _Upper Management_."

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other again.

"Go on," Aziraphale said.

"There's been an _incident_, you see. A fire ... of sorts ... in the Earth Observation archives. Certain records were destroyed."

Aziraphale's eyes went round. "Earth Observation ..." He looked at Crowley, who was scowling but didn't look all that surprised.

"Yes, that's my department. _Was_ my department, anyway. I processed the Earth Observation files since the Beginning. Until last Saturday, when there wasn't supposed to be an Earth anymore."

Aziraphale cleared his throat and looked down. Crowley grinned, wolfish.

"As I said, there was a small fire. It destroyed certain records." Greg nodded at the box beside him. "Anyway. I should go. I have a date in Paris."

He fidgeted with his hands nervously, as if not quite sure if he should do something with them or leave them at his sides. He made an awkward wave and headed for the door. Aziraphale and Crowley stood still, staring at him dumbfounded.

As he reached the door, Greg turned back and said, "I'd just like to say ... I know it's not my place and no one asked me or ever will ask. But I think you both did the right thing. In the beginning, that is."

He smiled broadly at the flabbergasted angel and demon standing in the middle of a cluttered old bookshop.

"And Mr. Crowley? Just tell him. Don't let another 6,000 years go by. It's all there. Just tell him." He nodded, satisfied, and left.

Fifty-two seconds passed in silence.

Finally, Aziraphale turned to Crowley.

"What did he mean? Tell me what?"

Crowley shrugged. "No clue. Open the box, angel." Crowley walked in a slow circle around the table, the box, and the angel staring at it. "But be careful."

Aziraphale carefully opened the lid and peered inside. Thousands of photos and paper transcripts were neatly stacked and bundled with string. He picked one at random. It showed the two of them in formal frock coats in front of the base of a giant antique telescope. Crowley was peering up at it through his small dark glasses. In the photo, Aziraphale gazed at Crowley with affection and amusement.

"Oh Crowley, remember this? The Great Exposition!"

Crowley raised his glasses to his forehead and peered at the grainy photo. He made a noncommittal noise and picked out another photo from the stack. It showed him seated at an outdoor cafe, leaning towards Aziraphale, who had a forkful of something delicious in his mouth. Crowley flushed and picked another photo, then another. Aziraphale did the same. Eight minutes passed silently as they picked out photos and either tossed them aside or set them down carefully. The air in the bookshop grew several degrees warmer.

Aziraphale drew a sharp breath.

"Angel?"

He looked at Crowley with shiny eyes full of feeling. Crowley had to look away. He flipped through a few more photos, before finding one that took his own breath away. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, softly. He met the demon's uncovered eyes. "You don't have to tell me. I know."

Crowley reached for Aziraphale. He cupped his cheek gently, then kissed him. Two photos fell to the floor: In one, a closeup of two hands holding a tartan thermos, and in the other, the same hands closed around a satchel of books.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. My knowledge of angel hierarchy is limited, as I resisted any and all attempts at a religious upbringing. So Pravuil is based on about 2 seconds worth of Googling, which produced this info: Pravuil (Vreti1)-designated as the "scribe of the knowledge of the Most High" and as "keeper of the heavenly books and records." [[Source](http://www.theology.kiev.ua/images/afiles/0000477.pdf)]  
2\. Picture [this lovely Alaskan meadow](https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/meadow-with-blooming-wildflowers-in-alaskausa-picture-id942334842) as the picture Greg can't bear to file.  
3\. [Some info on the Great Exhibition in London, 1851](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Exhibition).
> 
> I'm [doomed-spectacles on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doomed-spectacles) \- come say hi if you like. :)


End file.
